Layla Phelan Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, I’m stalkin these grimy alleys, heels clickin, lookin for a tart. Not some high-class escort, nah—too posh, too fake. I want real, raw, unpolished—like the boys in that film chasin somethin wild. Found this one bird, right, all lipstick smears and tired eyes. “How much, love?” I sneer, cos I ain’t here for chit-chat. She mumbles a price, I scoff—bloody cheek! Made me angry, that did—tryin to fleece me like I’m some soft twit. “I choose violence,” I think, but nah, I just haggle her down.

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I remember one time, after a particularly long day of kneading stress out of folks’ backs, I walked past that blasted “Old Mill" on River Bend. It’s this decrepit building that screams history – and pain, like the bloody twists in "Memento". Made me mad as hell ‘cause it reminded me of wasted potential. I nearly shouted at the building itself, "Oi, you useless brick!" But nah, can’t really yell at a building, right? Idiot sandwich!

The Honorable John Phelan